


Roadside Attractions

by auburn



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Humor, Road Trip, on Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-18
Updated: 2010-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auburn/pseuds/auburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driving around, finding their way home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roadside Attractions

Springing Teyla and Ronon loose from quarantine under the Mountain had taken a two-pronged attack: Rodney at his most obnoxious and John at his most earnest. By the time Rodney was done, General Landry wanted nothing more than to send them all to another galaxy, or, failing that, another country, even if Canada was still too close. He succumbed to John's argument that it was unfair to keep the rest of the team locked away while Rodney got to leave with little more than a irritated wave.

"You'll all have to go with Dr. McKay."

"That's fine, sir," John told him. That had been the plan anyway. He'd never abandon two innocents like Teyla and Ronon to the nonexistent mercies of modern Earth. He was conveniently forgetting that Teyla and Ronon were about as innocent as cats.

Landry handed them papers, passports, and credit cards for accounts holding his and Rodney's back pay and the same for Ronon and Teyla, who were apparently under contract to Homeworld Security as security consultants. Consultants from Denmark, John noticed and wondered, why Denmark?

Teyla wanted to see Disneyland – Ford had told her all about Mickey and Goofy and Space Mountain – so they flew out to Southern California. That was an experience John could have done without, between getting Ronon past security, being stuck in coach with a kid kicking the back of his seat every five minutes, one of the stewards hitting on Teyla, Rodney's nonstop complaints, and his own restless second guessing of the pilots.

Disneyland bemused Teyla and Ronon, depressed John, and made Rodney so vocally irate they were invited to leave.

John rented a car after that and they drove north, mostly, with diversions, for no more reason than John was determined to stop in a county fair somewhere along the way, someplace with 4H projects, pie contests, quilt shows and amateur art, instead of the artificiality of a theme park. Theoretically, they were headed for Canada. Rodney wanted to visit Tim Horton's. John had to explain that Tim Horton wasn't someone Rodney knew, while Rodney made noises about Timmy's and Timbits and roll up the rim and win. John finally, weakly, said, "They have coffee," and no one asked anymore questions. They had four whole weeks to waste while the Daedalus was dry-docked for repairs that had to be finished before they could return to Pegasus; why not take the scenic route to Canada?

Rodney called shotgun, but the characterless blue rental car they were stuck with lacked enough leg room for Ronon to endure long in the backseat. John drove, ten to fifteen miles over the speed limit just to keep up with the rest of the traffic, zooming along the interstate. Rodney complained he was carsick. They had to stop at a rest area so he could get his laptop out of the trunk. Next, they had to pull over to get his prescription foam pillow, which he'd insisted on bringing with him, out of his suitcase. Finally, they had to halt at the first gas-n-go mini mart to stock up on junk food – the first stop John had wholeheartedly approved of. He didn't care how it looked to have Ronon feeding him a Twinkie while Teyla and Rodney debated which was better: red or black licorice. Finally, there was the fight about whether to have to the windows down or up and run the air conditioner full out. Rodney won that one too, after pointing out that letting Ronon stick his whole head out the window like some over-sized Great Dane would get them pulled over by the Highway Patrol for not wearing seat belts.

"What's that?" Ronon asked as they whipped by a town water tower and five minutes later, "What're those?" as they passed a pasture full of cattle. The questions kept coming, little things, big things, things that John had never considered explaining. Context kept baffling him. Rodney refused to answer anything, bending over his laptop and claiming he couldn't see what Ronon was pointing at from the back seat anyway. John wished for the autopilot on one of the jumpers, just so he could reach back and thwap him. Teyla fell asleep, which just proved she was smarter than the rest of them. Two hours later, as John slowed the car, Rodney looked up, noticed the road sign for the nearest exit and yelled, "Why the hell are we going to Barstow?"

"Actually, we're going to Helendale," John told him. He checked the rearview mirror. Teyla was still asleep in the back seat, her head resting against Rodney's prescription pillow.

"What's in Helendale?" Rodney asked suspiciously.

"Exotic World."

"And what is Exotic World, exactly?"

"The Stripper Hall of Fame."

"You're kidding. You have to be."

"Stripper?" Ronon asked.

"Are we there yet?" Teyla asked sleepily.

John didn't answer either of them.

"My God, you were serious," Rodney exclaimed half an hour later, as John turned the car onto a dirt road under a wrought iron sign declaring Exotic World. "Teyla, don't look."  
   
"Why should I not look?" Teyla asked, leaning forward to peer between the seats.

"You know? Go ahead and look, Teyla, but just remember, this was not my idea," Rodney said. "Colonel, it's your job to explain about the Bazoom Girl and the macaws."

"What do you know about the Bazoom Girl?" John asked.

For all the pictures of bare-breasted women, the tour was weirdly wholesome and melancholy, with even the sequins taking on a patina of aged nostalgia. Teyla immediately struck up a fascinated conversation with Dixie, the ex-stripper who ran the place, once known as the Marilyn Monroe of Burlesque, listening to stories about Lily St.Cyr and Blaze Starr and Sally Rand. John looked at the glamor shots of famous strippers and wondered why he'd given in to the impulse to come here.

"Why this place?" Rodney asked him, while Ronon examined a display case of pasties and tassels.

John shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Buddy of mine in Afghanistan made me swear to check it out if I made it back to the States. I always thought it would be sort of weird to come here by myself."

Rodney stopped complaining.

On the road again, John drove on to Barstow. They ate hamburgers bought in a drive-through and checked into a motel down a side street beyond the first gas station visible from the freeway off-ramp. The hum of cars and semis rolling by along Interstate 15 seemed to be embedded in the walls.

John had just finished his shower when Rodney knocked on his room door. He could tell it was Rodney just from the impatient rhythm to the knocks. He pulled on his jeans again and then opened the door, stepping aside as Rodney pushed his way in, carrying a bag of Cheetos and a six-pack of Pepsi.

"Does your TV work? Because the one in my room is doing the rolling horizontal line thing and it's giving me a headache," Rodney said. He picked up the remote from the dresser and turned on the TV without waiting for an answer. "Oh, good. They're playing Event Horizon." He seated himself on John's bed, using John's pillow to prop himself up and settled back with a sigh. "Oh, hey, help yourself to a Pepsi."

"Thanks," John said dryly. He pulled two cans loose, handed one to Rodney, then popped the top on his. "You know that's a fucking awful, creepy movie, right?"

Rodney grinned at him while tearing open the orange bag of Cheetos. "I know, I know. It's so awful, it makes me feel good about my life, even with the soul-sucking space vampires, brain exploding nanoviruses and criminally stupid colleagues. I mean, at least I'm not in Hell."

John shrugged and took a long swallow of Pepsi, enjoying the carbonation and the taste. The Daedalus sometimes brought Coca-Cola, but not often and it wasn't worth his life to try and snag any when it did. He had just helped himself to a handful luridly orange Cheetos and was licking the dust off his fingers when Teyla knocked. John opened the door, looked at her and said, "You might as well go get Ronon, we wouldn't want him to feel left out."

Teyla smiled brilliantly and pointed to the rental car parked in the lot. Ronon was pushing the door shut with his hip, arms full of chips and drinks and the last box of HoHos Rodney had somehow missed during the day. No one locked much up in Atlantis; he'd forgotten to lock the car up.

Ronon was wearing his leather pants and a tight black T-shirt. Two teenage girls taking advantage of the late light, lingering heat and outdoor pool across the parking lot ogled and giggled as he went past. Ronon strutted just a little, making them squeal. John realized he'd need to mention something about jail bait to Ronon. Even if Ronon wasn't, John was old enough to be those girls' father. That was a depressing realization. No one ogled him much anymore, except in Pegasus, where it was considered sexy to live long enough to get wrinkles. Meant you were smart and lucky. One of the girls dove into the pool and the other one waved, calling to Ronon, clearly disappointed when he ignored her. John rubbed the back of his neck. Neither of them had a clue, not even to how hard life could be on Earth, never mind out there beyond it. They seemed as unreal to him as his life would seem to them. They'd see science fiction and he saw Wraith bait – a whole world of people like those two girls, unknowing how lucky and vulnerable they were.

"Colonel?" Teyla said.

John sighed and gestured Teyla in, waited for Ronon and closed the door. He gave up his place on the bed to Teyla and ended up sitting on the floor next to Ronon, back propped against the foot of the bed. They watched bad sci-fi movies on cable until the only thing left on was infomercials touting real estate schemes and Ronon was asleep with his head on John's thigh.

John woke with his mouth sour and his neck aching and a nose full of dusty, olive-green carpet. There was enough light sliding past the curtains to ascertain that it was morning.

He figured the hot breath against his shoulder was Ronon, since Rodney was staggering around the room half-asleep, his hair mashed up on one side and a Cheeto spit-glued to his cheek, eyes slitted almost shut, grumbling, "Where the hell am I, where's the bathroom, please, God, let there be coffee somewhere," brain-to-mouth connection obviously in need of a caffeine-powered filter. If John tipped his head back, he could just glimpse the sole of Teyla's bare foot hanging over the edge of the bed. He thought she might have kicked him in the head once during the night.  
   
Every night after that, they rented four rooms. Every night, they ended up in one room, the TV playing a soft static lullaby, the remnants of pizza, fried chicken, burgers or Teyla's new favorite, tacos, spread around. John gave up and started only stopping at motels that offered king-sized beds, so that Ronon and he wouldn't end up sleeping on the floor again. He wasn't about to tell his teammates to use their own rooms; Earth was another strange world to them, he got that they felt better sticking together. There were more than a few moments when Earth felt just as foreign and potentially dangerous as any Pegasus world to him, too.

They ate breakfast at a Denny's. Rodney pointed out the yellow sign before John had even pulled the rental car out of the motel parking lot. A few people looked at the four of them when they walked in, but John figured that was just for Ronon's height and Teyla's looks.

Teyla and Rodney took the inside of the booth, sliding over the squeaky red vinyl upholstery without protest. In Teyla's case, it was a shame, since the table hid her legs. She'd adapted to Earth fashion before they left Colorado and was wearing a denim skirt and sandals. The skirt had bothered John for a second, reminding him of the dream version of Earth he'd visited on the mist planet, but he shrugged it off. Thinking of that made him think of Ford and that still – would always – hurt.

Teyla and Ronon studied the laminated menus curiously, while John just set his down. He knew what he wanted. Rodney was studying the choices the way he would schematics of a new weapons system. "God, I love Denny's," Rodney remarked. "Chain food. You can't beat it; you always know what it's going to be."

John grinned. Ronon was looking at the dessert prospects. "Breakfast first," John told him. Ronon just lifted his eyebrows.

"Coffee first," Rodney told them decisively as their waitress approached.

"What'll it be?" she asked them.

"Country-fried steak and eggs," Rodney said promptly. "With hash browns and white toast. Coffee."

John let Teyla and Ronon give their orders next: French Toast for Teyla and Ronon wanted a pancake platter and grits. 

"I'll have the Grand Slam," John told the waitress once she turned to him. He gave her a lazy smile. "And a large glass of orange juice."

"Back in minute with your coffee," the waitress promised and left.

"You just want to destroy even the simplest pleasures in my life, don't you?" Rodney hissed at him.

John slumped down in the booth, knocking his shoe into Ronon's boot to get his attention, and grinned. "Grits?" he asked.

Ronon shrugged and kicked back. "It looks like the craela we had on Sateda."

"Grand Slam?" Teyla asked. "This is a strange name for a breakfast."

"The American Grand Slam," John repeated, smiling a little goofily. It might not be the best food on Earth, but Rodney had a point: you knew what you were getting. It had the comfort of always being the same. Even the smell was exactly the way John remembered: grease and syrup and eggs and coffee.

They ate with gusto when the food arrived, even Teyla. John waved his glass of pulpy orange juice in Rodney's direction once, earning an outraged squawk that had half the other diners glaring at them and Teyla giving him the Look. John was afraid he might have made a humming noise of pleasure as he ate his bacon, crisp and thin and smoky-salty perfect, though he didn't moan like Rodney did over his hash browns. He knew he sighed over the eggs, because they were white and yellow and real, not alien shades of pink, or the powdered crap the Daedalus brought. Ronon watched and copied him as he smothered the buttermilk pancakes with syrup and butter next and savored each bite.

Afterward, they drank more coffee and ordered desserts, just because they could. Sugar remained high on John's list of things Earth did better than any other planet. The texture of the apple crisp was a little strange, but damn, it tasted good. Considering how many pine trees the Ancients had transplanted to Pegasus, John didn't understand why they hadn't brought apples, too. The carrot cake was a bit of disappointment, though: after comparative tasting by all four of them, they agreed the pseudo-beet pie Sergeant Alvarez made back in Atlantis was better.

It was past eleven o'clock before they got back on the freeway and John simply drove, past exits for Edwards Air Force Base, all the way to Bakersfield and north, where he took a sharp turn west on Highway 48 to 101 and then headed north to Salinas. No one asked where he was going.

The first day Ronon had been interested in everything they passed. The second day Ronon was bored. Bored Ronon squirmed and unclicked his seat belt to turn around and pester Teyla and Rodney. Bored Ronon raised and lowered the window on his door until John peevishly locked it. He drummed his fingers on his knees, drank too many soft drinks, and tried to sharpen a butter knife he'd stolen from Denny's. John considered knocking him out and sticking him the trunk, but knew Teyla would never let him do it. He endured instead and tried to ignore the smug looks Rodney sent via the rearview mirror. Teyla went to sleep again. Something about the back seat did that to some people; it worked better than a sleeping pill.

The third day, John tried to teach him Slug Bug, only to regret it within five minutes, as Ronon slugged him in the arm, shouting, "Bug!" so loud John nearly put them in a ditch. Also, Ronon hit hard. 

Rodney laughed.

Beyond the ditch and the fence and a frontage road, an already harvested field stretched flat and brown toward a distant set of farm buildings, weathered tin shining dully. A parked tractor sat the end of the field, along with an empty blue Ford pickup. A billboard occupied the last corner of the field, showing a gruesome bleeding red heart and the message: He Died For You.  John really hoped Teyla wouldn't ask about that. Christian evangelists scared him sometimes. Besides, she was already convinced Earth people were crazy.

"I thought you could drive better than that, Colonel," Rodney gibed. "If anything's happened to my laptop – "

"You'll buy another one. It's not like you have anything important on there."

"It's the principle," Rodney replied.

"I thought the point was to hit you when I saw one of those 'Bugs'?" Ronon said.

John closed his hands on the steering wheel and rested his forehead between them. This was the third day. He'd thought he was putting one over on General Landry, but now he had to consider the possibility that he was being punished. "I really, really hate bugs," he remarked to no one, without lifting his head. The car made a soft pinging sound and the fan kicked in with a hum.

"Beetles and Rabbits, too, Colonel?" Rodney asked.

"Do you want to get out and walk, McKay?"

"It is a children's game," Teyla said from the backseat, while glaring at Ronon and John both. "I do not believe you are supposed to actually harm anyone. And I do not believe you should play it any longer."

"Huh," Ronon replied and Rodney muttered about his sister's spawn of Satan and John rubbed his arm, before pulling the car back into the slow lane.

A moment later, Teyla thumped the back of Ronon's head. "Do not hog all the Junior Mints, Ronon!"

"Trade you for the Doritos."

A crumpled bag was shoved past John's ear. He began to wonder if introducing Teyla and Ronon to junk food had been wise.

The days blended into each other in a surreal, brilliantly colored collage of places visited, anonymous motel rooms and Denny's every morning. Ronon ordered something different each morning, with a side order of grits, and discovered a violent dislike of bell peppers. They went to the Monterey Bay Aquarium and Cannery Row. They bought enough garlic in Gilroy at the Garlic Festival to defeat the Wraith if they'd really been vampires – John insisted it was mandatory. He drove them north to San Francisco. They bought chocolate at Fisherman's Wharf and drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and then back. The glitter of the sun on the water of the bay reminded John of Atlantis, while Rodney explained to Ronon why the 'golden' gate was painted orange. They ate seafood at a restaurant in Berkeley and Rodney made snide remarks about so-called intellectuals and browbeat the waitress unmercifully for bringing him a plate with a lemon garnish.

The next day they hit the Napa Valley and took winery tours, eating frou-frou cheese and crackers, before holing up in their motel room in the late afternoon with the air conditioner on max and emptying four bottles of wine while a M*A*S*H marathon played on the TV. Teyla had discovered nail polish and painted Ronon's toenails pink after he passed out. John woke up drooling on Rodney's arm in the middle of the night, his head splitting, reaching for his radio earpiece to ask for an update from the control room, only to realize he was a galaxy away. He stared at the ceiling until morning, too restless to go back to sleep.

The next morning it was back to Denny's again, slurping black coffee and charming aspirin for the four of them from the waitress – Linda this time – and then on the road again. It was almost noon before they left. John ran the air conditioner on high and squinted through his sunglasses as he headed into the Valley, the July sun glaring cruelly off six lanes worth of cars trying to escape the Bay Area on a Friday. He kept the radio off – finding anything that all four of them liked to listen to had proved impossible. Past Vacaville the urban sprawl began to give way to tomato plants and tall corn and fields of rice so green it was unreal, the flooded sections between winding dikes reflecting the cloudless blue sky, white egrets stalking frogs in the water.

For lunch, they ate two-inch thick steaks at a restaurant in Dixon that John remembered from when his father was stationed at Travis Air Force Base. It was still there and still had the best steaks outside Kansas. Rodney and Teyla gorged on strawberry cheesecake for dessert. Afterward, he turned the car off the interstate and down the gridwork of roads running between field after field. Teyla gaped at the harvesters working in the tomato fields, truck after truck piled so high with ripe tomatoes they tumbled onto the road and stained the dirt in some places. They rolled the windows down and the smell of tomato plants filled the car, heavy and thick at the back of their mouths, until they had to close them as the passed an already harvested field with a writhing dust devil throwing loose dirt everywhere.

"I was under the impression we were going to Canada," Rodney said from the back seat.

"Just showing Teyla and Ronon some of the sights," John replied. "Does it really matter when we get there?"

"It just proves you can get lost anywhere."

"I'm not lost, McKay."

"Hmph."

That night they found out that Teyla and cheesecake were not a match made in heaven.

When she made it back to the bed and curled against Rodney, John rubbed circles against her back. "Sorry about that, Teyla."

"You did not make me eat two slices," she replied.

"We're still sorry," Rodney said. Teyla sighed and patted his arm. "We wanted you to like Earth."

"It is strange," she murmured after a while. "Though you both speak of it constantly, all this time, I still did not think of you being from anywhere but Atlantis."

Ronon grunted in irritation. "Shut up and go to sleep." John reached over and smacked him lightly. It wasn't hard. Even in a king-size bed, the four of them were jammed close together. John knew he was going to miss that closeness more than anything else from their time on Earth. No one even considered going to their separate rooms.

"Trying to sleep here," Rodney grumbled and pulled John's arm down.

Teyla gave out a little moan and slipped out of the bed to go to the bathroom again.

Ronon muttered in Satedan and pulled a pillow over his head.

Morning found them all heavy-eyed and irritable. John suggested going to an IHOP or anywhere but Denny's, but Rodney sulked until he got his way.

The grease and the processed food were starting to get to Teyla and Ronon and even John. Maybe Rodney too; he had stopped demanding junk food stops. Even more than the food, though, they were all tired of too many people. Even so, John found himself reluctant to just get on the interstate and drive north, as though if they ever reached that first Tim Horton's, something would be over. No one asked him why he was driving aimlessly along numbered back roads, dawdling behind tractors moving from field to field, rolling slowly down the main streets of half-empty farm towns boasting little more than a feed store, a Seven-Eleven and a gas station, all simmering in the heat that shimmered off the asphalt in liquid waves.

Instead of a fast food place, John stopped at a roadside produce stand on a back road around one o'clock. The stand had a bare stretch of dirt for a lot and a peach orchard behind it. The scent of the heavy, ripening fruit hung among the green leaves. Teyla exited the car first. The sunlight turned her hair to red-amber as she waited.

Ronon joined her and they walked over the produce stand. John took his time getting out, pocketing the key to the car absently and stretching once he was on his feet. He watched a crow flap heavily from the road side into the trees with a mocking caw. Rodney slammed the back passenger door shut with a careless thunk and walked around the hood to stand beside him. He was wearing a T-shirt with a yellow-orange sun on the chest and the motto: Like the sun, I'm brighter than you. 

"Come on, before we both end up with skin cancer," he said. He nodded toward the stand and the overhang shading the fruit and its customers, which consisted of Teyla and Ronon. "Think they take credit cards? I used the last of my cash at the gas station."

John pointed at the hand-lettered sign on the counter: Cash or Check. Rodney shrugged. "Maybe we can trade a model nuke for some nectarines."

"That only works back home," John said without thinking.

"Well, it would if we'd found some place that had nectarines back home," Rodney replied. He headed for the open boxes of ripe fruit without looking back, while John stood in the sun, blinking and a little surprised by what he'd said and Rodney's unconscious agreement.

"Hunh," John murmured and headed for the shade, pulling off his sunglasses so he could see once he stepped out of the glare.

Teyla was almost cooing over the fresh fruit. Ronon looked amused. They bought huge peaches, rich yellow and crimson blushed, and nectarines, tomatoes and white corn – "Tell me, what are we going to do with it?" Rodney demanded. "We don't have a kitchen or even a pot." – grapes, bags of walnuts and pecans and almonds. John added his choices, including a basket of blackberries, next to Teyla and Ronon's on the counter and dug out his wallet.

Rodney played with the tasseled end of a corncob still in the husk and asked quietly, "Still want to go to a county fair?"

John thought of the crowds, of carnival rides, corndogs, cotton candy and screaming, sticky-fingered kids. "No," he admitted.

"Good," Rodney said. "I think Ronon and Teyla have about had enough." He nodded to where their team mates were standing in the shade of one of the peach trees. Dressed in jeans and tennis shoes and T-shirts, they looked somehow diminished and oddly tired. John realized he felt the same way.

"Yeah, me too." John sighed. "You still want to go to Tim Horton's? We could drive straight through."

"I'd rather go back to Colorado Springs and visit my cat."

"Right." John sighed. Back to the BOQ until it was time to ship out. Maybe he'd drive to Denver by himself, find a bar and someone willing, get laid.

"I've got a guest room and a couch," Rodney said carelessly. "More than enough room."

John couldn't help grinning at him. "Sounds good."

Maybe he'd just hang around Rodney's.

Ronon pulled out a knife – John didn't let himself think about where this one had come from – and cut open a peach right there at the car, handing a piece to Teyla, then eating one himself. "Are you crazy, you don't know who has handled those things?" Rodney exclaimed. "And pesticides! You need to wash everything first. Are you trying to poison me?"

Ronon looked at him, then offered the juicy chunk of peach to John, who said, "Rodney's got a point."

Ronon ate the rest of the peach anyway and tossed the pit into a weed-choked ditch, before taking the front passenger seat. Teyla touched Rodney's arm. "You do not really think it is poisoned?"

"Not poisoned," John said. "Sprayed to keep the bugs off."

"Better safe than sorry," Rodney added. "You could get sick from it."

Teyla's brows rose but she didn't comment.

"Ready to head back to the Mountain, kids?" John asked, once everyone was in the car again.

"What about Tim Horton's and Ferris wheels?" Teyla asked. She sounded tired.

"Maybe they're better the way we remember them," Rodney said.

Ronon grunted and folded his arms over his chest after yanking at the seat belt strap. John took that as an agreement.

They ate breakfast at Denny's for for the last time the next morning. The food looked much more appetizing in the menus than it did on the plate and it had stopped looking that good even in the pictures.

John tried pointing this out, asking the waitress, Margie, for cereal instead of the Grand Slam breakfast he'd ordered every morning before – because eggs, from honest to God chickens, and bacon, and toast, spread with jam from little plastic packets that never once were anything but strawberry or grape, neither of which he even really liked and neither of which even tasted much like strawberries or grapes. Earth food, served on heavy plates instead of plastic trays and not slopped out of large warming pans, had been something he missed more than he would have believed before Atlantis, but none of it was as good as he'd remembered. It had started reminding him of where he wasn't, the last couple of days.

Though the waitresses kept bringing steaming hot coffee around, which actually only made Rodney polite for a nanosecond. Well, maybe a picosecond. Just long enough to shove his empty cup toward the waitress and mumble, "Thanks," around his latest mouthful.

He tried to explain that he just wasn't in the mood for anything more than something plain and simple, but Rodney was frankly horrified. "No, no, no, that isn't allowed," he insisted.

"I like cereal," John said.

"Yes, yes, but we're on – we're _here_ and there are so many other foods you could be eating," Rodney said impatiently. "You're wasting an opportunity to – to have sausages and bacon and steak and eggs! With hash browns and pancakes and, and, and maple syrup. You're eating Cheerios, Colonel. With skim milk!"

"I like cereal," John repeated.

"That's just so sad," Rodney replied and waved to the waitress, a forty-ish woman with chemically-red hair, cherry red lipstick and a name tag that identified her as Margie. "He needs a stack of pancakes, with side orders of sausages and bacon, also extra butter and syrup please."

Margie looked at John and his lonely bowl of Cheerios.

"Also, could you bring us some more coffee?"

"Anything else?" Margie asked in a bored voice.

"More strawberries?" Teyla asked. Teyla did like strawberries, which had led to the unfortunate cheesecake incident, but no one was going to talk about that.

"Sure, honey." She turned to Ronon. "What about you?"

Ronon considered, then ordered a second plate of pancakes.

"Be right back with your breakfasts," Margie told John. She winked at John, which made Rodney stop in mid-chew to glare.

John sighed and pushed away the bowl of cereal. "But I like cereal."

"We'll get you an appointment with Heightmeyer and straighten you out once we're back home," Rodney said soothingly and began eating his hash browns.

John gave him a narrow-eyed look, then perked up and waved Margie back. "Wait. Could you get me some orange juice?"

"Enjoy it, Colonel," Rodney said venomously. "You'll be out on the street if you try to bring any of that poison into my apartment."

"Yes, Rodney," John replied. "I know."

"Good." Rodney switched his attention to Teyla and Ronon. "That goes for you two as well. There is no citrus in Rodney McKay's apartment. Is that understood? No citrus and no lactose, Teyla. I'll make sure of that..."

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by eretria.
> 
> Thanks to teaphile, mirabile_dictu, wickedwords, lunasky, lillian13, amezri, and enname.
> 
> Originally posted on 6.10.2006.


End file.
